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Magic Mike XXL

Let me preface this by giving a little bit of background.:

I went to go see the first Magic Mike opening night. I was skeptical, to say the least. Despite me being the correct age and
gender for the demographic of a film such as Magic Mike, I don’t really go in for the whole male entertainer
thing. I blame my parents, who are Catholic and Protestant by
nurture and Midwestern by nature.
As an only child, with no older sibling to show me the way, my
upbringing was fairly tame. I
legitimately watched Dirty Dancing for the dancing, not the dirty, and even by
high school, a fully- clothed Justin Timberlake adorned my walls. To say that body image issues factored
into my adolescence would be to really sell that phrase short, so the idea that
there were people who could get paid for taking off their clothes was nearly as
outlandish as getting asked to the prom by Matt Damon. The idea that a
big-budget movie would put male dancers on a screen the size of a two-story
building did not necessarily thrill me so much as give me pause.

When I showed up that night and the
theater was filled with eager middle-aged clans of women, I grew even more
wary. When two men calling
themselves dancers, wearing no shirt under their leather vest and black pant
ensemble entered the room to intro the movie, I had a mild panic attack. “Dear god,” I thought to myself “I don’t know what chosen name you like
to go by, but if you make me sit through some sort of real-time strip show
right now, I will actually curse you by all the names of gods and goddesses I
can think of”. I checked for the
exits quicker than I would have if there had been an actual fire. But luckily, those two men just made
the Mom Clans hoot and the GIRLFRIEND gaggles holler and then the movie
started.

I had reasoned with myself that,
even if slightly uncomfortable with the subject matter, I could not fight the
film’s pedigree. McConaughey was
getting raves, and I, like many of my generation and the one immediately
preceding and following, quote the name “Soderbergh” in the same way that other
generations have thrown off “Coppola” or “Lumet”. I had to trust in the
director, even if in my head, I’d already given this only a 50/50 chance of
winning me over. I mean it was the
story of Channing Tatum, as far as I was concerned. Could it really be great?

Well the answer to that was “Yes”. And so I should have never doubted in the ability of a
sequel.

And yet there I sat on Magic Mike
XXL’s opening weekend thinking, “hey dudes, lightning doesn’t strike
twice. You got mostly lucky with
the first one, but me throwing my hard-earned cash at your follow-up will be
about as gratifying as making it rain on a man in spandex hot pants”. And yet, Magic Mike XXL was becoming
the not-so-little movie that could. For a summer that included huge names, huge
studios and even bigger sequels, Magic Mike was what everyone was talking
about.

I had to see it for myself. So, at 10:30 am on it’s third week of
release (which in movie years basically makes it practically middle-aged) I
roped a friend into going. Because
going to Magic Mike by yourself is basically the same as admitting that yes,
you really ARE going to finish off that pre-mixed Margarita bottle in one
sitting. But it’s a delicate
balance. Going to see with MORE
than one friend means you run the risk of turning into one of those groups of
women who starts whistling at the screen without even realizing you’re doing
such a thing. Never underestimate
the power of the Estrogen+GroupThink equation.

So there we sat in the empty
theater. One other older woman
dropped in on the party (apparently, she’d ALREADY finished her Jimmy-Buffet-in-a-bottle)
but was considerate enough to sit far enough away that we could all pretend
there was no one else there.

And then, there he was, (Magic) Mike (Channing Tatum), contemplating
a sunrise on a wooden swing at the beach.
The last 3 years have not been the dance-less utopia he dreamed, but
just how rough they’ve been we’ve yet to discover. Upon receiving a call from his former group mates about the
demise of their leader, Dallas (McConaughey’s former alter-ego) Tatum heads to
a sketchy hotel in Tampa (now living here I can assure you, there are several
to pick from) for the funeral.
Surprised to find that Dallas’ departure isn’t so much dear as
metaphorical, Mike is asked to join his four friends and partners in dance on
one last ride to a male stripper convention in South Carolina.

Somehow, the film manages to sell a
convention of male entertainers as a plausible mcguffin, one in a long list of
its major strengths. The fact that these conventions exist in someone’s version
of the real world helps; but what would normally seem an outlandish
destination, instead functions as a plot device that allows Mike to have his
“Just when I thought I was out they pull me back in again” moment. Luckily for everyone in the audience,
that moment is accompanied by the timeless classic “Pony” by Ginuwine. The smile and laugh at himself that
Tatum gives during his Jennifer Beals send-up instantly sets the tone for the
rest of the film. As has been proven time and again, Tatum is utterly
charming. I don’t think I’m
exaggerating when I say that, perhaps despite, or perhaps IN SPITE of, the
bumps and grinds, Channing Tatum displays as much joy floating over a table saw
as Gene Kelly did while swinging around a lamppost. And his newly discovered joie de vivre is infectious.

And so it is he finds himself in
the back of an artisanal fro-yo truck surrounded by his comrades who have only
managed to pack Village People-style costumes and enough Ecstasy to keep the
show rolling all the way to Charleston.
What ensues is a story that, if Homer were alive now, would be written
as “The Odyssey; or how aging male dancers come to terms with their
mortality”. Each stop provides a
different spotlight for a different player and it somehow all comes together,
with the dance climax waiting in the wings, the big-number anchor that musicals
have relied on since the dawn of time. The film manages to feel outlandish and
segmenented without being unbelievable.
It is, perhaps, convenient, but never forced. These characters are always authentic to themselves, perhaps
archetypal, but never false.

In fact, there seems to be a genuine camaraderie among this
group of men from the island of misfit boys, and that’s what makes almost every
scene a delight. It seems that director, Gregory Jacobs, has benefitted from working so closely with the man who made all of Hollywood's A-Listers into BFFs in the Ocean's series. As is true with that series, in a lot of
scenes that could easily qualify for douchebag-bro baiting, the writing is
distinctly kind and polite. The kind of dialog from a time long ago when "guys" could still be "men". One of my favorite scenes is a “morning after”
sequence in which the guys get details about Richie’s evening. “That amazing, beautiful woman was the
one?!” says Mike, incredulous.
“I’m just so happy for you man”.
It’s a scene that is usually handled with “atta boys” and crude
handshakes, but here is all southern gentleman. In the hands of this ensemble, it comes off as funny, and
sweet and endearing.

There’s also a sense that this film
and its makers, fully aware of the audience’s hesitation to believe in a sequel
on this subject, are daring you to naysay once you see the finished product.
When the boys dare Richie (Joe Manganiello) to make a dour-looking female clerk
at a gas station smile, they’re really daring us NOT to smile. When they start playing Backstreet
Boys’ “I Want it That Way”, they show their hand, but you’ve already folded
your cards and given in. The
ridiculousness of the spouting water bottle isn’t so much gratuitous as
hilarious. As a woman, you
realize, you’re never in danger with these guys, they’re just goofballs who
look good in g-strings. And this is, perhaps, the biggest piece of fiction that
the movie is able to sell. Because
the perception is that this is a film about men taking off their clothes, when
what it’s really about is selling each audience member their specific flavor of
artisanal man. It’s an undressed rom-com with at least

five different choose-your-own
endings for audience members who care to make the choice. If you’re into big
and brutish with a heart of gold, there’s Tarzan (Kevin Nash). If you’re into sweet and sexy there’s
Tito (Adam Rodriguez); leading-man good looks with a spiritual side there’s Ken
(Matt Bomer); a man’s man who’s just looking for the one, there’s Richie
(Manganiello) and then there’s the all around boy next door (WHO NEVER LIVES
NEXT DOOR) with talent that not only could drop his drawers, but yours too,
there’s Mike, and you know what? He is pretty magical.

By the time Jada Pinkett-Smith
showed up, I was thinking “yes, you’re right Ms. Pinkett-Smith, I AM a queen”
and by the time Donald Glover showed up, I decided I was way, WAY on
board. These are two minor
players, who, in combination with the other cameo appearances (Michael Strahan,
Twitch from So You Think You Can Dance, Andie “Randy” McDowell and Elizabeth
Banks) at least for me, MORE than made up for the lack of Mr. McConaughey.

I guess what I’m saying is the lack
of intimidation, the acceptance of moderate inhibition and the reminder that
there’s always one more chance to make sure something ends with a bang, makes
Magic Mike XXL one of the most optimistic, fun movies this year. It’s about men and friendship and women
and desire, and the tightrope that we all almost always have to walk in
relationships. And it’s also a
little bit about a sequined dong in your face, but all in good fun.